


Worth Your Weight In Gold

by shadesofhades



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Authority Figures, Dubious Consent, M/M, Prostitution, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-21
Updated: 2011-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-26 09:48:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofhades/pseuds/shadesofhades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's at the mercy of the F.B.I., and Henriksen has a few tricks up his sleeve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth Your Weight In Gold

**Author's Note:**

> For Kink Bingo.

Dean eyes the stack of folders on the table in front of him with some trepidation, knowing from experience that it's bad enough to have _a_ folder, let alone fold _ers_. Never mind that he's handcuffed to a table in the middle of a police station with a smug F.B.I. agent in front of him.

"Open it," the man in front of him demands, and Dean hesitantly reaches for them, his handcuffs having just enough give for his fingers to touch the edge and bring the folder closer to him. He knows that's no accident, not with the way he smiles when Dean's grip on the manila folder slips multiple times until he's able to drag the damn things close enough for him to flip them open.

When he finally grips the edges between his calloused fingers and lets them fall open on the table, he can barely believe his eyes. He wasn't sure what he'd see, but it certainly wasn't this.

Pictures. Dozens of him and other men, in dirty alleys, behind bars, entering seedy motels with them.

"You're kidding, right?" he finally says after a moment, collecting himself and forcing himself to look away from the images in front of him. He doesn't want to remember those times, not really. But to have them dropped in front of him by a federal officer who already has charges far worse against Dean on his plate -- Dean doesn't really know what Henriksen's game is and he isn't entirely sure he wants to find out.

"Solicitation, prostitution, whoring, it doesn't matter what you want to call it, Dean. You still did it." He smirks and Dean wishes he weren't handcuffed to the damn table -- with no way to escape in sight -- because he really just wants to punch the smug bastard. "How old were you when you started? Eleven? Twelve?"

Dean feels his hands clutch the side of the table, his knuckles undoubtedly turning white, but his vision is too focused on the man in front of him to really notice. "You don't know anything," he all but growls out, and he admits he's already losing his cool, but this is just too much.

Henriksen's smile widens. "Did Daddy teach you that too? Did you learn how to dig up graves and kill people before or after Daddy taught you to suck cock for money?"

The sound of the chair clattering to the floor is dull in his ears as Dean leaps to his feet at the words, protest already on his tongue, but he doesn't get any words out before he's interrupted.

"Bet Daddy took one look at those lips of yours and that pretty face and forced you to your knees, didn't he?" Henriksen is taking far too much pleasure in this and Dean really wants to hit him, wishing so much for a paper clip, anything to pick these damn cuffs and slug the man in front of him. To just jump over the table and let fly with his fists, because it's bad enough that he's shoving the pictures, the memories back in Dean's face, but it's something completely different to bring his father into it.

"Dad would never do anything like that."

"No? So what was it, Dean? You needed the money? You _liked_ it?" He comes closer to Dean, his face mere inches away, breath moist on his face while he speaks the words.

The last thing Dean expects is to be released from the cuffs binding him to the table, only to have a pair slapped back on behind his back as Henriksen pushes him bodily into the two-way glass, his face hitting solid against the pane, shaking it as the wind is knocked out of him.

"With skills like that," Henriksen's breath is hot against the back of his neck, his full lips wet and ghosting along his skin, "you'd be the most popular guy in your cell block." Dean can't help but shiver when the other man's teeth graze the sensitive flesh of his earlobe as he continues his speech. "And I can't wait to be the one to put you there."

In that moment, he wonders who's on the other side of the two-way mirror as he feels Henriksen's unmistakable hardness against his ass, arching his back to press against it, to tease the way he was taught. This wasn't where he thought it was going to go, but now that they're here -- the F.B.I. agent's badge around his neck, digging into the center of Dean's back as he presses his body against him, his shoulders being jarred with the way his arms are twisting uncomfortably in his cuffs -- he wants to see where this might go, how far he can push it.

He bites down hard on his lower lip before he sucks it into this mouth, trying hard to make it swell up like he's just been sucking cock for hours, mashing his teeth repeatedly on it before he pushes it back out and does the same to the top one. He can feel that his lips are fuller than before, thick with blood welling up just under the surface, and, satisfied, he forces his body to turn under the other man so that he can face him. He puts on his best smirk before he asks, his voice smooth and as cocky as ever, "Is that all you've got? Threats about what might happen to me in prison? Sure you can follow through, G-man?"

With his chest pressed against the other man's, his lips close to his, he can feel the way Henriksen sucks in a breath and his cock hardens further in his slacks, grinding hard against Dean's own start of an erection trapped behind thick denim.

The F.B.I. agent doesn't say anything, just bites his lip and backs off a little, giving Dean some space, as if he can read what Dean's thinking, giving him room to drop to his knees on the hard tiled floor. He does, his knees hitting solid as he thinks, _It's going to be far too easy._

"You gonna free my hands, or are you afraid I might escape?" Dean asks, shifting slightly to show his hands still pinned behind his back before he eyes Henriksen's zipper pointedly.

The other man just laughs and tangles his hand in the front of Dean's hair, tugging his face closer to his crotch. "Want to see how good you really are with that mouth."

He doesn't try to hide the fact that he's annoyed as he leans forward, taking the fabric around the button into his mouth, and pushing the round plastic through the hole with his tongue. Henriksen's hand tightens further in his hair, making his scalp ache as he tries to grab hold of the top of the zipper with his teeth.

When the F.B.I. agent grips a little too hard, pulls out some of Dean's hair, he draws back and forces his head up, even though he can feel more of his hair rip out as he does it. "Watch the hair or I'm gonna start screamin' about police brutality."

Henriksen eases up, lets his fingers run softly through Dean's hair, forcing it to stick up even farther than normal before he loosely grips his hair again, pulling him back to work at his zipper. Dean does so willingly, letting the man drag him back so he can tilt his head and grasp the zipper between his teeth, letting it click down slowly as he leans down, letting Henriksen's hand follow.

He can feel the heat rising off of the other man's erection, thick and dark with blood, as he finally grips the black boxers that lie between them and pulls them down with his teeth, freeing the other man's cock. He's not disappointed by the size, and smiles at himself as he opens his lips and lets Henriksen guide his dick to his mouth, staring up at him with the wide obedient eyes he knows that so many guys get off on.

Much to his surprise, Henriksen doesn't push in right away, instead teasing Dean, rubbing the head over his lips before he lets his cock slap lightly over his cheek. "Lick it," he commands, and Dean obeys, letting his tongue dart out to wipe away the pre-come collecting at the head. He doesn't let it last long, though, before he sucks the cock into his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks as he runs his tongue along the vein on the underside. He's not a master of deep throating, but that doesn't stop him from trying to open his throat and take more of the man inside, and even though he gags a little, before he pulls back and tries again, Dean figures his efforts must not be too bad since Henriksen's grip on his hair has tightened again.

He's expecting to spend longer on his knees, expecting the F.B.I. agent to shoot off in his mouth, but he doesn't get a chance. Instead, he's pulling him back by his hair and forcing Dean to look up at him. "You're not going to get off that easily, Winchester," he says with a smirk and Dean just returns it, realizing exactly what it means as he struggles to get to his feet.

Henriksen hauls him up by his shoulders before he forces him forward, bending him over the interrogation table that Dean had been handcuffed to only minutes before. He lets the other man's hands slide under his body and undo his belt buckle and jeans, sliding them down his hips and letting them bunch up around his knees. Dean spreads his legs in invitation for the man behind him, knowing that this is going to be rough, and not at all disappointed when Henriksen spits into his hand and rubs it over his cock.

He lines up with Dean's hole and forces his way inside, and Dean's just thankful that he's done this enough lately for his body to be okay with the intrusion, even if he still has to struggle to breathe. He won't say it doesn't hurt, because it burns like hell, but he sucks in a lungful of air and forces his body back against Henriksen's, relishing in the feeling of being completely full, and knowing that it will feel fucking awesome in a few seconds if he ever decides he wants to move.

The other man rocks back on his heels, his hand on the small of Dean's back, just above his cuffed hands, holding him down on the cold metal table, before he pushes back in fast and hard, forcing the table legs to skitter forward ever so slightly as he finds a rhythm. He's pretty sure this isn't going to last long. He knows Henriksen's type, liking to be in control, to assert some sort of authority over guys like him, and he lets him, willingly letting him fuck into his body, to grip his hips and bring him back.

He's surprised, though, when it drags out longer than he expects, and Henriksen slows to a crawl, his thrusts deliberate and teasing just over Dean's prostate, forcing Dean's body to convulse, and making it hard for him to keep his control at the way his cock is painting wet circles over the edge of the table with his pre-come.

"Does your little brother fuck you like this, Dean?" Henriksen asks as he leans in close to Dean's ear, the other man's body crushing his hands and making his lower back ache. He shudders hard at the mention of Sam and doesn't care if the silence that answers Henriksen is incriminating. "Do you make him fuck you hard and fast after you guys murder someone? Fucking you into the mattress of some seedy motel room in celebration. I bet you love it when you can hold him down and fuck yourself open on Sam's cock, don't you?"

It takes nearly all of Dean's will-power not to come at that image alone, of Sam under him on some on some queen-sized bed, his hands clenched in the sheets as Dean rides his cock. It's never happened that way, in fact, more often than not it's like the way Henriksen is fucking him now, slow, steady and teasing, and that suits Dean just fine most days, but he won't deny that the picture planted in his head is a strikingly pleasant one.

He doesn't correct the F.B.I. agent, doesn't tell him that Sam's usually the one that pushes him down and forces Dean to let him fuck him, instead, he grits his teeth and arches his back, trying to force the man above him into a fast rhythm, getting driven slowly out of his mind with slow thrusts.

"C'mon and fuck me already," he all but has to beg before Henriksen complies, his hands planted on Dean's hips to bring him back brutal and quick against the hardness of his body.

Dean doesn't last too much longer, his balls drawing up as the man pounds into him and he loses it all over the edge of the metal table and the tiled floor of the interrogation room, his fingernails biting into the skin of his palms as his body tenses up. Henriksen soon follows, his fingers tightening on Dean's flesh as he pounds into him just a few more times before he feels the man's hot come splash against his insides.

Henriksen just leans hard against Dean and breathes for a few moments after, Dean's face resting solid against the hard table, his breath steaming up the cold metal at every erratic breath he takes, before the other man's grip on his hips loosens and he lets himself slide from Dean's body. There's a certain feeling of relief spreading through Dean as Henriksen pulls his now soft cock from his body and Dean can feel the come finally force its way out down his thighs, to pool in his jeans, still bunched up around his knees. He knows it's going to be uncomfortable in his cell later that night, the inside of his pants crusted over with come and his ass aching, but he kind of thinks it might be worth it.

He rocks his body up when Henriksen finally moves back to do up his pants, and Dean imagines he must look pretty stupid with his pants around his knees with and his hands handcuffed behind his back, but the other man doesn't laugh as he leans down to pull Dean's jeans back up and over his hips before he buttons and zips them back up.

Dean can't help but smirk when the man steps around him to gather up the folder full of pictures still open on the table. He leans back against the table, his ass resting on the very edge before he crosses his legs and stares over at Henriksen.

"So, how much do you think it was worth?" Dean asks, smiling wide as he watches the F.B.I. agent shove the folders under his arm and come towards Dean.

The man doesn't answer him at first, and Dean thinks he's not going to get an answer, when the man's free hand comes up to grip the collar of his shirt and drag him towards the door, but after he knocks on the thick metal door signaling that he wants out, he finally turns to Dean with a devious smirk and says,

"It will be worth every penny I pay for the surveillance tape just to see the look on your brother's face when he watches the way you let me fuck you. "

 

END.


End file.
